ASHFORD (Gray Wolf Security #5)

by Glenna Sinclair

  “My mom helped me buy it when I was fifteen, and I restored it myself, mostly. I had some help from the mechanic my father keeps on retainer, but only with the really complicated stuff.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah.”

  He started the car, and it purred like a dream. And then we were driving through the night air, the convertible roof tucked away and the wind blowing all around us. I sat back and stared at the scenery, fascinated with everything. Miles reached over and touched my thigh, squeezing lightly before pulling away. I moved closer to him and lay my hand on his knee, happy when he didn’t brush it away.

  We drove for a while, snaking along back roads surrounded by incredible oaks. I thought we were just going to drive, just keep going until his phone rang or the sun made an appearance over the trees. But then he pulled to the side of the road and jumped out, coming around and helping me out as well.

  He held my hand as we walked into the woods. It was dark, and there was a lot of animal activity that didn’t grow as silent as one might imagine at the sound of our footsteps. But there was a smell that was like heaven—trees and flowers and compost—and a sort of peace that felt reassuring, somehow.

  And then the trees opened up, and there was a beautiful body of water that was so calm the moon and the stars were reflected perfectly in its inky pool. I let go of Miles’ hand and walked close to the edge, squatting to slip my fingers into the cool water. Little ripples moved away from me, disturbing the calm of the water briefly, but then becoming a part of the beauty of it all.

  “I discovered this place not long after I got my driver’s license. I used to come out here all the time, just stand here and stare out at the water. It was incredibly calming.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened at the hospital. I’m sorry you had to see all that.”

  I stood and wiped my hands on my jeans, my eyes seeking his in the darkness.

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. You didn’t sign up for this.”

  I wanted to ask him about the things his father had said and about the accusations he made, but I knew this wasn’t the time or the place. So I turned back to the water.

  “What did you do out here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you study? Listen to music?” I glanced back at him. “Did you ever swim?”

  “A little bit of all that.”

  “Did you bring girls here?”

  “No. You’re the first.”

  I was honored, even though I had to warn myself again to be careful. It was a difficult night. The fact that he’d brought me here didn’t necessarily mean anything.

  “I can’t imagine you as a teenager. I suppose you were wildly popular.”

  He laughed. “Hardly. I was too tall, too clumsy, and more interested in comic books than sports.”

  “I don’t believe that. I bet you had girls chasing you all over campus.”

  “Sure. But mostly because of my name, not my looks.”

  I shook my head. “Naw. I bet you were that guy that all the girls followed around while whispering about how perfect you were.”

  Miles laughed. “If they were, I didn’t notice. I always had a comic book open when I walked down the hall. I walked into open locker doors more often than whispering girls.”

  That I could almost imagine. It was actually a pretty endearing image. But I wasn’t going to tell him that.

  “There’s always that boy in every high school, the one all the girls fight over, the one they all want to be ‘the one.’ Jimmy Martinez was that one at my school.”

  “Did you have a thing for Jimmy Martinez?”

  I blushed, glad he couldn’t see it in the dark. “No. I was more interested in Kyle Anderson. He was in all my classes, and he had the most amazing blond hair. I would waste whole class hours wondering what it would be like to wrap those curls around my fingers.”

  “A rebel, then.”

  “I suppose. Or maybe it had more to do with the fact that he was the only boy in my class I didn’t completely tower over.”

  “It sucks being tall.”

  I nodded. “Especially for a girl.”

  “Hey, guys don’t have it much better. You can’t even begin to guess how many times I’ve hit my head on low ceilings or low door jambs.”

  “Probably not as many times as I was called ‘Amazon’ in junior high when I was a full foot taller than most of the boys.”

  “They must make them really short in your hometown.”

  “No. I’m just an Amazon.”

  “But I’ve got you beat by a full five or six inches.”

  “Then you must be a giant.”

  He grunted, but then it turned into laughter, as he gave me a little shove, catching me with his other hand just before I fell into the water. I pulled away and scooped up a couple of handfuls of water and threw them at him.

  “Oh, yeah?” he asked, moving around me and diving away from another scoop of water. He grabbed his own handful, spraying water over the top of my head and down my back. I hissed under my breath from the sudden chill of it, but it didn’t stop me from grabbing more water and tossing it at him again.

  He charged me, grabbing my hands before I could get more water, soaking his shoes in the process. Then he pulled me up against his chest, both of us laughing so hard that neither could catch our breath. And then he was looking at me with that same hooded look he’d offered me after the kiss we shared earlier in the evening. It forced me to catch my breath, knocking the laughter away as I stepped into him. He cupped my jaw even as his other hand snaked around my back, pulling me as close as we could get without defying physics.

  His lips were warm and a little salty as he pressed them to mine. I opened to him quicker than I probably should have, welcoming him inside of me, loving the way he knew just where to touch me, just how much pressure to apply, how to make those waves of pleasure dance through me. I touched his face and let my fingers slide over his cheek before moving them into his hair, playing with the curls that lived there, as I had wanted to do the moment I first met him. There was just something so erotic about running my fingers through a man’s hair, using it to tug him closer to me, losing myself in the contrasting textures of his masculine body.

  I could feel his body responding to me, could feel his breaths quicken, his heart pound. I moved a little closer, and I could feel his arousal, as his hand slid down my back, cupping the roundness of my ass as he tugged me so much closer to him. His other hand dropped from my jaw, dragging his fingers over my side, over the curve of my breast. And then his fingers were digging their way under my shirt, his palm pressing against my back for a long moment before sliding further up, sliding under the band of my bra.

  My belly quivered, something deep inside tightening so much that it was almost painful. I ached in a way I’d never felt before, the need so strong that I might have begged if he didn’t have my tongue completely occupied. And then he was pushing me back, leading me to higher ground, to the soft grass that grew not far from the tree line. I was falling through the air, but it felt more like floating on a cloud. His weight was draped against my side, his hand moving over my ribs, exploring the bottom edge of my bra, his mouth moving from my lips to my chin to my throat. A low, keening moan filled the air, and I didn’t realize at first that it came from me. I’d never made such a sound before, but I’d never known a passion like this before either.

  He pushed my t-shirt up and kissed the tops of my breasts, his tongue stealing a little taste here and there. Then he was nibbling at my hardened nipples, tugging them into his mouth and doing things that made me arch my back and moan again. But he didn’t stay there long. He moved on, his hot kisses weaving and bobbing over my belly, his tongue stealing a taste of my navel, his hands tugging at my jeans as his fingers sought the depths of me, that place that so desperately wanted his touch.

  I wanted him.

  I k
now that seems obvious. I know that everyone says they need the man who turns them on at the moment. But it was more than that. There was this connection that his touch seemed to bring to life, something about the way his touch spoke to my soul that made me almost desperate to feel him, to be close to him. I wanted him in a way I’d never understood the definition of the word.

  He tugged my jeans over my hips, and his hand cupped me, the pressure like a soothing balm on a burn. It felt so good, at first. But then I needed more, needed so much more. He seemed to know that. But, at the same time, he seemed eager to make me wait. He kissed my inner thigh, taking a deep breath of the musky smells that lived there. Then he kissed my other thigh, his teeth nipping like a puppy who hasn’t quite learned yet that biting is undesirable. Rather than pain, his nips sent more and more waves of need through my body, waves that came to concentrate themselves in my clit. I needed his touch like I needed my next breath.

  When he began to tug my panties away, I thought my heart might shatter with the anticipation. At the same time, the uncertainty that came with inexperience wagged its ugly head. I pressed my thighs together almost unconsciously, blocking him from what it was I wanted just as much as his confused glance told me he did. I sat up and kissed him, trying to remind myself that this was my husband, this was the man I wanted. But that instinct…

  “I want you,” he whispered against my lips.

  Again, the melt, the puddle that was once my muscles, my nerves, my sanity. And his hand touched me in a place no one else had ever gone. Pleasure burst through me, threatening to take even the tiny bit of reality that was left. But my thighs betrayed me again by pressing together, holding him hard against me, but refusing him further entry.

  “Riley,” he said, confusion in his voice as he pulled back to look at me. There must have been something in my eyes, something in my expression, whatever it was brought understanding to his eyes.

  He nodded just slightly and slowly pulled his hand away.

  “It can wait.”

  “No, Miles. I want to. I’m just—”

  “It shouldn’t be like this, Riley. You don’t want your first time to be with some asshole who’s only using you because he’s hurting.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “But I do.”

  He kissed me, that need igniting inside of me again. But then he pulled away, tugging my jeans back into placing and pulling me against his chest as he wrapped his arms around me. He held me, his breathing slowly returning to normal. We just lay there for a long time, my cheek against his chest, his chin resting on the top of my head. I don’t know who started it, but we began to talk, and we talked for a long time, laughing from time to time, sharing secrets and stories that didn’t matter but meant everything. We got to know each other in a way we might never had if not for that night, for those circumstances.

  That’s where we were when the call came.

  Chapter 13

  The funeral was a private affair. The priest had very kind words to share about Elena, stories that might have made me smile if I’d heard them under different circumstances. She sounded like the kind of woman I would have liked to have known. I felt a little cheated to have only known her for the few short hours I did.

  Miles was stoic, refusing to show the burden I knew he was carrying. He cried when Lila called. Silently. Painfully. I had to take the phone out of his hand and reassure Lila that he was not alone, that he would be okay. But I didn’t really know that. The tears disappeared almost as quickly as they came, and he threw himself into the planning, into what came next. His mother had time to arrange her own funeral, but there was a reception to be planned and dealt with. Joan flew in and took over most of the details. But there was plenty of work to go around and Miles was determined to take on more than his share.

  He was back to not talking to me. He wouldn’t even look me in the eye in the rare moments we found ourselves alone. However, he kept me close, clinging to my hand like it was the only thing that kept him anchored. That’s where I was now, clutching his hand, leaning into him so that he knew I was there, so that he knew I was willing to shoulder as much of the burden as he would allow.

  The priest finished speaking. Silence fell over the cemetery with the exception of Lila’s sobs. Keegan held her close, whispering soft words against her ear as she tried to control her grief. Jackson stared at the coffin for a long moment, then turned away, walking toward the cars as though he was done with the entire scene. Robert and Claire stood back from the rest of us, Claire the only splash of color in this gray day in a red cashmere dress. I’d caught her stealing glances at Miles all through the ceremony, pain all too obvious in the lines of her perfect face. I wondered briefly if Miles knew she was still in love with him. If Robert knew. But then I decided, in the bigger picture of this day, it didn’t really matter.

  As though by some cue I didn’t hear or see, Lila and Miles moved up to the coffin, placing the roses they’d been holding since leaving the house on top of the smooth, walnut surface. Miles pulled his sister close to him and whispered something in her ear. She smiled despite the tears still rolling uncontrolled down her cheeks. Robert joined them and, for once, Miles didn’t turn away. In fact, he stood between his siblings and held them both for a long second. Then he turned away, his face a mask of strength he felt he had to show. He walked past me, grabbing my hand almost as an afterthought.

  The ride back to the house was quieter and more somber than anything I’d ever experienced, even compared to the ride to the hospital after Miles got the call. Once again, I felt like an unwelcome observer to a private family drama, an intruder into the life of a man who didn’t appreciate such invasions. He never pushed me away and never asked me not to be around, but he didn’t invite me in either.

  I wanted to make things better for him. I just didn’t know how.

  There were cars already spilling out of the long driveway of the Thorn mansion. The limo carrying us had to maneuver between parked cars to let us out at the front door. There were people everywhere inside the house, almost like the party thrown in Miles and my honor five days ago. Joan was just inside the entryway, welcoming people and directing them to the right rooms. She was quiet, respectful, but her eyes filled with pain when they fell on each of Elena’s children. Especially Miles. I remembered what he’d said about her, about how he’d had a crush on her when he was a small child. I could see that the depth of affection, while not romantic in nature, was clearly mutual.

  “Your father’s out on the veranda,” she said. “He asked that you join him when you arrived.”

  I wanted to help. I could see the wait staff hired through a catering company was overwhelmed by the number of mourners and that the regular staff was not keeping up with trash and dishes and coats tossed over furniture. I felt like I would be more useful if I went to the kitchen and helped organize the appetizers that were coming out on trays or checking on the supply of liquor being consumed by the tumblerful. But when I stood to pick up a plate discarded by a woman who’d come to express her condolences to the family, Miles grabbed my hand and pulled me back down into the narrow loveseat we shared. So I stayed.

  I heard more stories than I could have imagined a person could tell about another. Stories of Elena’s kindness, of her generosity. Stories of her as a young woman, of her as a young wife, of her and her children. It was overwhelming the things I heard. I can only imagine how hard it was for her husband. For her children.

  Miles barely spoke all afternoon. He nodded when someone spoke to him, whispered thanks more than a dozen times. But he never offered anything that wasn’t requested first. He was polite, but silent, lost in his own thoughts. And he held my hand so tight through it all that my fingers were numb even hours after he let it go.

  It felt like the reception lasted forever. But, really, most of the mourners were gone within a few hours. Joan stepped out onto the veranda when the last of the people had gone, the confidence I’d always associated with her disa
ppearing as she stepped in front of Jackson Thorn.

  “I’ll take care of the cleanup,” she said. “You should go up and rest.”

  “I’ll help you,” Miles said.

  Based on the animosity so obvious between them since the night of the party, I expected Jackson to refuse. He didn’t even acknowledge Miles’ words, but he didn’t move away when Miles slipped his hand under his father’s arm and led the way inside.

  I watched them go, then stood and began gathering the dirty dishes scattered on the glass table tops and in the seats of the chairs.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Joan said.

  “I want to help.”

  I continued to gather the trash even as Joan assessed me with that thoroughness I’d squirmed under during our first meeting, that ill-fated job interview that introduced me to Miles and opened the door that brought me here. I’m not sure if she found me as wanting as she had on that occasion, but she shook out a trash bag and opened it for me.

  We worked methodically across the veranda and into the sitting room while Lila, Robert, and their spouses continued to sit quietly and live in their grief. I glanced at them from time to time, once again wanting to do something to make them feel better, but unable to think of anything that wouldn’t just make things worse. I wondered, as I had off and on these five days, if this was what it was like after the car accident that took my parents’ lives. I was too young to remember. I have vague flashes of memory—the flashing lights, the hospital, the sense of missing something—but nothing concrete. At the moment, I was kind of glad I couldn’t remember.

  “He’s going to need you.”

  I looked up. Joan was standing across the room from me, gathering glasses on a tray, her back to me. I thought for a moment she wasn’t talking to me. But then she glanced at me over her shoulder.

  “He thinks he’s strong enough to handle this on his own, but he’s not. No one is.”

  I set down the pile of plates I’d gathered. “He won’t talk to me.”

  “He does that. He holds it all in until he just explodes, usually in anger. He’ll need you to be there to pick up the pieces when he does.”